Memoriam
by little.acatalepsy
Summary: S4 Finale. His beloved is dead and Tristan is surprised find someone who's been there before. Empathy does not heal wounds. But for now, it might be enough to stop the bleeding.


_Just a little one shot, set post the S4 Finale because I'm feeling nostalgic and just want Merlin to return._

 _Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Merlin..._

 _P.S., If you were looking for my next HP fic, it's in the works, but I took a little break to get the creative juices flowing. Thanks for reading! -Cat_

* * *

There were shouts and laughter outside, happy, rejoicing. Camelot welcomed their rightful king, applauded his victory against Morgana, and gladly reveled in their freedom. He stared down at them. They smiled and laughed as they cleared away the rubble and dust of Morgana's short rule of the citadel. A man beamed as he saw his wife and children come running to help, the littlest ones grabbing stones with their small hands, his wife standing on tiptoe to peck his lips. They exchanged words, but he could not hear them through the rippled, latticed glass that covered the window where he stood. He clenched his teeth bitterly and averted his gaze to the rough stone of the alcove.

There was an ache, powerful and strong, throbbing deep in his soul. It clawed at every conscious thought, darkening them with a tainted emotion: sadness that welled into anger, and then back to despair. Numb.

So this was how the fairytale ended. Not with happy endings, but with a sudden close. And the sole survivor was emptied in a way no one could possibly understand.

People had comforted him, laid a hand on his shoulder as a passing sympathy. But, eventually they would move on, give him space, uncomfortable and unknowing. He was glad they left him alone, for they would never know or understanding the ache of losing someone you love more than the sun itself.

But then his thoughts were roughly brought to a halt. Footsteps were meandering down the hall, accompanied by the low grumbling of a voice he recognized. He thought about moving, hiding so that he was not seen or confronted, but the energy to do so was drained. So he waited for the tall, dark-haired, and lanky figure to come into view. He nearly dropped his load of laundry when he spotted the man leaning against the window frame.

"Tristan," he said in surprise. "There you are."

"Hello Merlin," Tristan replied. The cheerfulness in his voice sounded fake to his ears. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine," Merlin replied with a smile, but his normally dancing blue eyes had transformed to a sharp gaze, changing the boy's entire demeanor. The difference from the clumsy, oblivious servant was disconcerting. He gazed directly into Tristan's eyes. Tristan realized this was the first time anyone had done so since it happened. Merlin adjusted his grip on the laundry basket before asking, "And you?"

"Same," Tristan replied, feeling irritated and longing for the solitude of his window without any disturbances, especially one that seemed unusually perceptive.

Merlin chuckled slightly before gently setting the basket of Arthur's clothes down. "Sure you are." He joined Tristan at the window and looked down at the courtyard.

"Strange, isn't it?" Merlin said suddenly. "How life just keeps going."

"Yeah," Tristan grunted, unsure where Merlin was going with this conversation.

"People just keep living, day after day," Merlin continued, softly. "Taking the blows and the sunshine, remembering and learning."

Tristan watched Merlin carefully. The boy, well man really, was still staring at the courtyard but his eyes were distant, and strangely old. Merlin grew silent before turning to look at Tristan again.

"It's good to remember," he said slowly, as though wanting to impress the importance of his statement. "But don't get left behind."

Tristan was startled. It was a simple phrase, spoken from the wisdom that comes with living. Merlin kept talking. "You're not fine. It aches, the hole where she was. But it will mend." And then he took one last glance out the window, over the walls to the treetops and someplace beyond.

Then, without another word, he turned and lifted up the basket of laundry again and disappeared down the hall. Tristan watched Merlin go

He still felt it, the numbing despair. Crushing emptiness. But something had shifted, giving him space to draw breath.

Suddenly, he didn't feel so alone.

* * *

 _To Abigail and Brenda._


End file.
